


you're bent over the altar, and the neighbors are complaining

by mortarsmayfall



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bad Decisions, Blasphemy, Church Sex, M/M, Marking, Rough Sex, and fingerfucking, bad decisions made while drunk and horny, fingerfucking also happens, generally just, in which i am really damn glad i was not raised catholic, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 15:10:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4024537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mortarsmayfall/pseuds/mortarsmayfall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>from a prompt on the kinkmeme: "seriously though im really disappointed that i havent been able to find a single fic of matt and foggy fucking in a church. what the hell. it's time to fix this.</p>
<p>bonus points for bottom matt. double rainbow bonus points for matt praying the rosary while getting fucked by foggy yeahh"</p>
<p>This is going to be what sends Matt Murdock to hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're bent over the altar, and the neighbors are complaining

This is going to be what sends Matt Murdock to hell. 

Not the Daredevilling or his failure to foster good friendships, not even the entire fucking stack of issues (not to mention a lack of money) Stick left him with. No, this absolutely takes the blasphemy cake, icing and all, and he can't help but think _it was worth it._

He's wine drunk and giddy , bumping shoulders with Foggy awkwardly as they walk and, hey, Foggy's got a hand in his back pocket and he's _definitely_ grabbing Matt's ass but it's good, the pressure makes the nape of his neck tickle nicely and. Yes. Matt leans down awkwardly and scrapes his teeth against Foggy's earlobe right there in the fucking street because what the hell is public decency?

Foggy lets out a slight squeak, cracking Matt up and smiling that smile that Foggy calls the shit-eating-Matt-Murdock-is-a-asshole-that-gets-everything-he-wants-because-he's-so-damn- _pretty_ grin and seriously Matt, what the fuck, at least give us mere mortals a chance now and then to compete. 

And this is how they somehow end up in a church -- god, a _Catholic_ church, life must really hate Matt today because it's sure throwing him some interesting curveballs -- and before Matt can say "this is a bad idea" or "I'm pretty sure this could get me excommunicated," Foggy's got him shoved into a confession box, door slammed shut, with a knee wedged ungracefully between Matt's legs and hands skating up his shirt -- his good _work shirt,_ fuck -- rucking it unceremoniously from his trousers. 

"Fuck," is the only thing Foggy can really put into coherent words right now and Matt agrees, _fuck_ , but he still shushes Foggy because apparently cursing in a church is far worse than fucking in one, which makes Matt huff out a laugh to think about. 

But Foggy's knee _rubs_ Matt and he rattles out a sob, begs "again, oh, my God, Foggy," and somewhere in the chaos of the rutting and the messy kisses Foggy is currently peppering him with, Matt's got the rosary from his pocket wrapped around his knuckles tight enough to leave marble shaped _bruises_ around his fingers and that's good, that's very good, he'll rub those later and think about Foggy. He thumbs the crucifix as he bares his neck, offering the delicate skin for bruising. 

And before Matt's even past the Apostle's Creed Foggy's got a couple of nice bruises forming on Matt's neck and a hand on his belt, thumb scraping the buckle and an oath of holyshitholyshitholy _shit_ against Matt's flesh, undoing his fly clumsily --

"...and life everlasting, _amen_ , Foggy, Jesus, want you inside me," Matt gasps. He hooks a knee around Foggy's hip because he's hard and _aching_ , can't feel anything except for the press of rosary beads across his palm and Foggy's hand tugging his dick from his underwear and -- _ah_.

Foggy's got rough, dry palms and Matt _swears_ into his hair as Foggy works him, hushing Matt even as the latter pants like a bitch in heat and "Our Father" crumbles into incoherency, shimmies Matt's trousers and underwear down further and Matt dimly realizes they don't have any lube but he doesn't care, he needs it _now_ , tells Foggy so. 

"Suck," Foggy commands, holding out the hand not currently jacking Matt off and Matt _does_ , gets Foggy's fingers good and wet with spit, dragging them across his red lips and humming like he's blessing them and Foggy can't help but _watch_ , dumbfounded, till he frees his hand from Matt's drooling mouth (with a whimper from the other at the loss), telling him that was enough. And suddenly Foggy's hand is no longer on Matt's cock.

Except he has no time to complain when Foggy's _breaching_ him and god, his fingers are _thick_ , and spit definitely does not make a good substitute for lube but it burns good and sweet, not unlike the punishment Matt endures at the hands of criminals. No wonder old holy men used to whip themselves, he could get used to this. 

But Foggy isn't trying to take it slow this time (they're fucking in a confession box, for god's sake, this was probably five different kinds of illegal and ten different kinds of sacrilegious) and he crooks his fingers just right and Matt gasps, his good knee goes weak and Foggy has to hold him up against the back of the box lest he collapse. 

"Just a little more," Foggy mutters, twisting and hitting Matt's prostate again and Matt positively _cries_ , begs Foggy for something thicker than just his fingers, kisses him clumsily on the corner of the mouth.

"Please, please, please, want your cock, _please_ \--"

And Foggy obliges. 

It's messy as hell but Foggy works his trousers down enough to free up his own cock and the pent-up smell of sex fills Matt's nose and he moans, he can practically smell the pheremones and salt coming off of Foggy. Matt only just realizes his other hand's been gripping the wall of the box so hard he's definitely driving splinters up under his nails but he can't find it in him to _care_ when he whines at the loss of pressure of Foggy's fingers and thrusts uselessly against nothing, murmuring a bastardization of the Hail Mary to keep himself busy but he feels a hand on his ass and lips on his ear and--

_oh._

Matt doesn't realize he's been crying actual tears until Foggy is kissing them off his cheeks as gently as the confines of the confession box will allow, and he realizes Foggy's sunk into him, stretching him more painfully than any of his fingers could. But Matt's back arches nonetheless and a breathless noise issues from his throat and he's sighing, his neglected cock twitches as Foggy tries to get readjusted but this might just be the closest thing to heaven on earth Matt has experienced. 

"God, Matty, you should see yourself right now," Foggy whispers, in awe, "you're so warm and your hair is sticking to your forehead and I can _feel_ your heartbeat, it's racing, Matty, your mouth is so wet and red, Jesus -- and this is all for me?"

"For you," Matt repeats, and it's like a blessing, an amen. "Always for you, Foggy."

Foggy's hands make their way around Matt's wrists and slide them over Matt's head and he's powerless, waiting, lets Foggy do what he wants with him and Foggy does, sets up a rough rhythm that makes Matt gasp and choke and sob for more, hands scrabbling between the wood and Foggy's hand as the other drops to Matt's waist, holding him in place. All that's issuing from the box now is the occasional sob or grunt or plea for more, accompanied by the wet slap of flesh, and Matt can't think of the sweat sliding down his ribs when his whole body is on fire and he's thrusting to get purchase on Foggy. 

It's like this for a while, rough fucking in the box until Matt can't stand it any longer and pleads with Foggy to touch him and he does, drags a hand wet with spit up Matt's length and Matt knows he can't last much longer, his ears full of the sound of Foggy's hand on his cock and Foggy's hips grinding into him and Matt cries out and spends, dripping on himself and Foggy. 

Foggy makes a move to pull out and Matt stops him, breathless. 

"Keep--keep going," Matt says, and Foggy obliges, ramming into Matt until the latter, oversensitive and shaky to the touch, is sobbing, cleching around Foggy, and Foggy loses it, comes biting Matt's neck as he rides out his orgasm and Matt strokes his hair with quivering hands. He unhooks Matt's leg from his hip and pulls out, come dribbing down Matt's legs and nearly ruining his pants until Foggy utters a curse and produces a wad of tissues from his pocket to clean Matt up. 

"Thank you," Matt sighs, and he means it, unwrapping the rosary from his fingers and dropping it back in his pocket as he worked his belt back together. "That was. Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Foggy replies, and winces -- too literal for the situation they're currently in. They're still fairly drunk and the adrenaline is winding down and Matt definitely looks the worse for wear, sitting awkwardly on the bench, his lips, still red, shiny in the dim church light. 

"I--might need you to hold me up when we walk home."

"Don't worry about it." Foggy smiles. "I just smiled at you. We can get a cab. It's no problem."

Matt grins up at him and thinks, yeah. This was a good night. He might have some things he couldn't tell even Father Lantom now, but...Foggy was warm and solid and Matt could still feel the heat imprint of Foggy's hand on his hip, and he knew he would sleep well for a change tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> ...ahem. yes. so uh this was written on a night where i definitely lost all control of my life (it was the night before a huge exam, i don't love myself, etc etc) but i'd been hankering for church sex for quite a while and with this much religious imagery it would frankly be a _crime_ not to fill that lil prompt i found on dreamwidth that caught my fancy. so uh. yep. 
> 
> overall very sorry if this fic seems kind of crude or unpolished, i'm just some bozo on the internet that publishes fics occasionally in their free time, haha. comments are much appreciated though!
> 
> fic title is from father john misty's "i love you, honeybear": http://youtu.be/57yHnFN0J-M which is also the title of his album that i go to when i'm feeling in the mood for weird sexy stuff. 
> 
> also feel free to hit me up at philparmas.tumblr.com!


End file.
